Another Chance
by Cornelius Sigan
Summary: As Albion burns in an apocalyptic purge, Merlin reflects on a new, unknown enemy, and wishes that he could return to the good old days. Yet it would seem that our worst fears listen to our greatest hopes. Set after Season 3. First ever One-Shot fic.


**My imagination was in a tragic, apocalyptic mood (it is most of the time anyway), and this is what came to me. My first ever One-Shot. Hope you enjoy! :D**

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The blinding golden sun had reached its peak in the sky, vertically above the ground, its ferocious heat burning the ground... literally. The once lush, rolling hills were now completely gone, having been levelled by mysterious, destructive attacks. The landscape was now charred and devoid of colour and life. The forests were blazing, huge columns of smoke rising and even taking the colour out of the sky. Several burnt remains of people were scattered here and there, only their blackened bones enduring the persistent, lethal heat. There were no birds in the sky, and all life had been snuffed out. The Land of Albion was dying, and Camelot would be the last Kingdom to fall.

The city was beyond repair or saving. The lower town had been completely razed to the ground; what had once been hovels were now charcoaled pieces of crumbling timber. The great walls that surrounded Camelot had been pounded by some kind of magical explosions, which sent huge chunks stone flying high into the sky, only for them to descend and crush houses and the people they had been built to protect. Only small parts of the great wall remained; a sad reminder that the first defence of Camelot had been brought down with insulting ease.

Merlin watched from one of the windows overlooking the city, from the citadel. He watched a city that could have been great and powerful crash to the ground. Only a handful of survivors had endured; the only reason Merlin was alive was because he had got up late for his chores for Arthur. Yet even that hadn't been enough to save his friend. Arthur had ridden out at dawn, to meet their enemy, with what remained of the Knights. None of them had ever returned, and a tear glistened in Merlin's eyes as he noticed charred remains of horses and men near the edge of the dead forest. There had been so many things he had wanted to tell Arthur; how much of an idiot he was, how hard it was to keep him satisfied, and how many times he had saved his royal backside. Most of all, though, Merlin had wanted to reveal his gift to Arthur. Why did this have to go and happen? Why? Merlin's head felt sore with frustration, and his throat was tight with pain, as he tried to keep in the tears. Kilgharrah had told him, time and time again, that he and Arthur were destined for great things; that the two of them would usher in a golden age for all of Albion. Sadly, though, it seemed there were those who cared little for destiny.

Merlin had no idea who their attackers were. It had all started after he, Arthur, and the knights had retaken Camelot from Morgana and Morgause. At first, all seemed at peace, but then word reached from the south that an invading force had landed on the coast of Albion. Villages, towns, and cities were burnt, and no one was left alive... no one. Not even children, the elderly, or babies. Forests and fields were purged in fire, and it seemed the enemy was at war with the very landscape itself, as well as the people. Then, mysteriously, the attacks did not breach into the Kingdom of Camelot, but Mercia to the north had been destroyed, as were the lands further north of that. It wasn't long before no word from anyone on the outside reached the city, and villagers from the outlying regions fled in panic to the citadel to seek refuge. There hadn't been enough food for everyone, and starvation struck. Soon after that came death and disease followed instantly. They were mocking us, destroying all others but leaving Camelot last, as if it were the best, and because of this Merlin suspected Morgana and Morgause were behind this. Ironically, the day after that particular thought arrived in his mind, he and Arthur were hunting for game, to help feed the survivors. Instead of finding deer, or rabbit, they came across the bodies of the two sisters. Their necks had been snapped in two, yet unlike everything else previously inflicted on Albion, their bodies had not been burnt. That was when it truly struck Merlin.

The enemy could pierce his very mind, and see straight through his fears and suspicions... somehow. They had deliberately left the bodies in the forest so Merlin would find them, and didn't burn them so Merlin could identify Morgana and Morgause. It was cruel, in a way that he had never seen or even comprehended before. Whoever, or whatever they were, they saw Albion as a joke, and everything and everyone in it. Yet to some extent they toyed with Merlin, and possibly even respected him. It was a crazy thought, and Merlin didn't even know where the idea had come from. Perhaps it had been placed within him.

Gaius had died this morning, and instead of suffering through starvation, he had decided to pour a small bottle of hemlock into his morning drink. He and Merlin had said their farewells the night before, and the young warlock couldn't face the thought of going back into that room. So many memories; wonderful, saddening, terrifying, exhilarating, disgusting, and downright odd. This place was saturated with memories, and Merlin couldn't take it anymore. He'd do anything to wind back the clock; back to when he had made his first steps into Camelot, and when there were no enemies among friends. Regret and guilt choked Merlin to the point where he was hunched over, sobbing, and shaking like a leaf in a storm. The years of emotional pain caught up with him and it was just too much.

About two months ago, he had experienced a terrifying dream where Arthur was stabbed in the back by Morgana, outside Camelot in the depths of night. Having awoken from the nightmare, Merlin had vocally vowed to do anything to avoid this from happening. He had lost the will to be constantly moral and kind; it had drained him and he's had enough. Merlin had asked the Dragon for a solution; anything to stop Morgana from killing Arthur, without having to kill the witch. Kilgharrah had warned him that the only way that could be achieved was by using the most powerful magical object in existence, to control her soul. His wise, resonating words had been tainted with speculation, claiming that he wasn't even sure if such an object even existed. After that... well, this happened.

Arthur, Gaius, Gwen, Morgana, Uther... all dead. Destiny had been grabbed by the throat and slowly, cruelly slashed from side to the other. Magic itself was dying, and Merlin could feel his own power drain. He had faced so many enemies before, and through that time he should have gained the wisdom knowing that one day he'd eventually meet an enemy that would get the better of him. That day was this day.

Through the sobs, tears and cries, Merlin managed to find some final words before the citadel would crash down to the ground, killing him and all the remaining survivors.

"I... I'd do... anything... to bring back the... good old days."

An enormous, awesome wave of power coursed through him, and all noise from the outside world diminished and faded to nothing. His eyes sharpened he felt a soft tug in the back of his head.

"_Anything_?" The single word was emanating raw power to the point where Merlin felt like he was going to burn up on the spot. He merely nodded his head in reply, trying to think of nothing.

"So be it. Have a chance to re-write destiny, and re-live the times you treasured. However..." The last word sent a freezing chill down Merlin's spine; it had been defined to importance and he knew what that meant. It couldn't be good. He was right.

"_You must make a promise, so we are not forced to purge Albion again_."

The promise could be catastrophic, but what could be possibly worse than this? It didn't take him long to reply.

"I... promise," Merlin said, the magic in him now dead and his very soul on the verge of collapse.

A long pause followed, and the sense of gripping dread held Merlin tight in its cold, unforgiving grasp. He felt the citadel shake beneath him and the burning landscape from the window seemed to rise, but it wasn't. He was falling. Time was running out!

"_When you die_," the voice echoed in his head dully, sending Merlin into unconsciousness as his lifeless body hit the floor "_so must_ _magic_."

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Merlin opened his eyes, gasping as he looked around him. He was in the Forest of Ascetir, but where else did he expect to be? His mother had given him a blanket and food the day before, reassuring him that he was going to be fine with Gaius. He would be better off in Camelot, after all. She was an old friend of Gaius', so he must be good enough a man to be friend of his mother's. Still, though, walking into a city that he had never set foot in before would be a little unnerving, as well as the fact he knew nothing about it. Then again, he'd rather wake up in a comfy bed from a dream like that in a dark, silent forest.

That dream had been unsettling. Merlin would do anything in his power to prevent anything like that from ever happening. He'd missed the final words, but it didn't matter, did it?

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**Hope it wasn't too depressing. Thanks for taking the time to read this. It means a lot :)**


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